


Last Night on Earth

by davincescode



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davincescode/pseuds/davincescode
Summary: Last night on earth before launching an attack against Lucifer, and this is how they rolled.





	

"Well. Last night on earth. What are your plans?"

There was a quiet pop, then a sizzling fizzing, a little something he had came to associate to a can of Margiekugel. In much the same way, he had also came to associate the rumbling baritone with the presence holding it. The voice was hard, sharpen by years of Croatoan wars much like the harsh plane of his friend's angular feature, a face he had long remembered in each tiny minuscule details if only he would close his eyes.

The face, he had traced with his fingertips on some nights; the voice, a breathy, desperate whisper against his skin on many occasions.

"I just thought I'd sit here quietly." Devoid of the need to look, he reached back. The motion stirred a protesting groan from the hood of the car he currently leaned against; although, not an Impala, sadly.

No— that would have been too painful. 

Maybe one of the things he could appreciate about this Apocalyptic experience was the numbers of stars in the sky. One can never know how bright they truly are until forced to live in complete darkness.

Another can of Margiekugel was slipped into his hand. Its smooth surface was cool against his skin; although, hardly the same could be said of those callous fingers, accidentally brushing his. He remembered them too: how they tend to leave marks on his skin. They were all they had now. He followed their fearless leader's example, head tipping back in one long swig.

"Booze, women? None of that?" The voice continued. Amusement dripping with sardonicism— fascinating, if not entirely new. But in that as well was the inquirer's quiet interest. Perhaps all was not lost.

"I thought you'd gotten over trying." His fall had been hard; there's nothing more to teach. Even so, he tipped the drink back some more. It would have been a waste not to. These days, a good beer was particularly hard to come by. Wiping the back of his hand against his lips, he asked the question he had felt most pressing, even if he might already know the answer. "Dean, . . "

"—we die tomorrow, don't we?"

"Ain't going to lie to you, Cas. But you sure as hell know me."

They saluted their life with a can of beer; that's just how they rolled.


End file.
